


One Wintry Morning

by PrincessofHarte



Series: One Wintry Morning [1]
Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, For the people who have read it there, It's more sinful than the original version, Romance, This was originally written on Fanfiction.net, oh geeze, there is so much angst, this is an updated version of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5938216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessofHarte/pseuds/PrincessofHarte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One wintry morning, Jack Frost returns to Burgess, resting in a tree. He is rudely awoken by a girl he's never seen before; you. </p><p>(Originally posted on Fanfiction.net. This is the unexpected and updated version.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Wintry Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I am the Princess of Harte. No, I am not the original author. Yes, I have permission to post this here. How? I'm the original author's editor. We have a weird thing where I use her FFN account and she uses my AO3 account. We're sisters and we've been doing this for some time now.  
> \--PoH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, noon, and night, everyone! This chapter was originally 978 words. It is now 1,563 words.  
> \--PoH

Silent is the atmosphere of the midday city. Well, calling Burgess a city is a bit of an overstatement, but the tall office buildings, the handful of taxis, and the people made it a city instead of a town. In the two months that you’ve been here, Burgess has grown on you. However, the clamor of the city in the mornings is something you’ve decided you’ll never become used to. Within your first week here, you found the perfect place of solace, free of the noise of bypassing traffic, almost invisible in lieu of the rest of its surroundings. Nobody ever comes while you’re there.

By a frozen lake, two rocks jutting from the otherwise smooth surface, you sit on the roots of one of the many evergreen trees that surround the snowy clearing. Every day, after school and the chores at the halfway home, you come to this lake and sit, taking in the soft rustles of the pines swaying in the occasional breeze or from reading whichever book you filched from the school’s library. Sometimes, with the sun resting on your legs, you wonder about whatever happened to your nonexistent parents, but you never come up with something concrete. All you can remember is orphanage after orphanage and pain with darkness, always pain and darkness. It’s in those moments that the snow begins to fall, distracting your thoughts.

Today, the lake is as calm as ever, but for one thing; there is a new sound. It takes you a while to notice it, as it is soft, hushed. You hear it in the foliage above you. Looking up into the white and green pines, you see no animal, no waking squirrel nor strangely misplaced bird. You close the book in your hands, setting it on a root as you rise. The snow gives small crunches as you walk quietly to the edge of the pond and turn. Glancing the tree over, a shade of royal blue catches your eyes.

“Hey!” you call, trying to see what it is. It doesn’t move as you steadily inch forward. The figure is more than just blue, you note, making out a shade of white much darker than the surrounding snow: the pale skin of a hand, calves, and…feet?

“Oi! You in the blue!” you call again. The human, you decide upon, moves slightly, as if shifting positions, turning away from you. A groan is heard. Annoyed, you bend down, scoop up a snowball, and chuck it at the blue part you assume to be the person’s head. It makes contact with a satisfying muffled crunch.

Instantly, the figure flips around, facing you. His head whips up, the top of his hoodie flying off to reveal snow white hair and dazzling blue eyes. His eyes narrow, taking in the sight of the fading sunlight. He reaches for a nearby branch, hooked and shaped like a shepherd’s crook. At his touch, it glows an ethereal blue. Glancing down from the sky, his eyes lock with yours and he jumps down from near the top of the tree into the snow cloaked grass. The distance is at least ten feet.

He saunters over to you, unhurt. For some reason, in the back of your mind, he looks familiar. When you notice that his feet are indeed bare, you ask him, “Aren’t you cold?”

He freezes in his tracks, his face a portrait of shock. Schooling his emotions, his eyes roam over you, making you feel as if he can see through you. Under his breath, or as you assume it is, since you can obviously hear him, you hear him mutter, “Can you see me?”

His eyes return their gaze to yours, their romp over your body over. Instinctively, you take a step back, suddenly terrified of the wicked glint in his eyes. Resting on your back foot, you slip on the slick surface of the ice, falling forward. You brace yourself for an impact that never comes; the boy catches you, one hand on your wrist, the other arm wrapped around your torso.

You fall silent as he sets you back on solid ground, wondering why he is chuckling under his breath. It is then that you realize you have to look up to see his face. He is at least a foot taller than you. Catching you staring at him, he grins, showing teeth that sparkle like freshly fallen snow, making you blush. _He probably doesn’t even realize the effect he has_. Red rises on your cheeks and your nerves fire up around his touch, making you shiver. One look at his face, and you can tell he knows. _Damn._

“Name’s Jack,” he says. “Mind telling me yours?”

You tell him your name, watching him smirk mischievously.

“Lovely name, Snowflake,” he nicknames you, alluding to the snowy designs on your coat, or maybe the frosty ones on his hoodie. “Why hang ‘round here?”

He is entirely too close for this conversation to be civil, but for some reason, you don’t want to push him away. He screams danger, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you think for a second, wondering how much you should say. “Hmm,” you mutter low in your throat. “It’s beautiful here.”

His eyelids lower as he shakes his head, smiling. This is obviously not the answer he was expecting. “Why are you here alone?” he clarifies.

“Maybe I wanted to get away from the city.” He nods, releasing his arm from around your waist _when did it get that low?_ You immediately miss the arm. “I’m new here. Everyone notices the new. No one seems to notice me here.”

His sinful grin turns into a sad smile, plastered to his face, understanding, as if he knows what it is like to be in a strange place without any friends. Friends were never a constant for you, and over time, you stopped actively seeking to make them. Nowadays, new is seen as unnatural, resulting in stares and discomforting comments. Dropping the flirtatious act, you turn the tables around. “Why are _you_ here alone?” _Without any friends_ , you imply.

“Well, I consider you to be a friend of mine—”

“Acquaintance seems more likely, given we’ve just met,” you interject.”

“—but other than that,” he continues, “Not many people notice me. At least, not people who are my age. Kids do, though.” _How could someone_ not _notice you_ , you wonder, astounded. He moves his staff as an unconscious gesture, bringing your attention back to its blue glow. It pulsates, going from the gray of a rising sun’s sky to a royal hue.

“Why does your staff glow?” you blurt unthinkingly. Your question brings Jack back to reality, away from his forlorn gaze into the distance. He lets go of your hand, holding the staff in both of his, contemplating.

“Oh, umm,” he hesitates. “Batteries! It runs on batteries.”

“Right,” you drawl, seeing through his lie. “Batteries definitely work in weather 20 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“And every sane person _definitely_ reads a book out in the same temperature,” he retorts, walking over to it. When he bends down to pick it up, you take a gracious look at him, humming in approval. “ _Nicholas St. North and the Battle of the Nightmare King_ ,” he reads out loud. “You read _the Guardians_?”

You nod, even though it’s only the first book. “And I’ve seen the movie—” As you mention the film, you figure out why he seems familiar. You haven’t seen the film in years, but the resemblance is blatantly obvious. Whispering under your breath, you just barely voice, “Jack Frost.”

“Sorry?” the boy in question asks, the sly smirk returning to his face when he hears you say his name.

“Jack Frost,” you say again, louder. “It explains why you were in the tree, why you don’t have frostbitten toes or fingers, why your staff glows.” You think out loud, your voice quickening in tempo.

“Right, but you also believe in me to see me.” It’s a statement, not a question. The next thirty seconds results in the two of you staring at each other. _He’s real he’s real he’s real is the movie right he’s real he’s sinful he’s real he’s real he’s coming closer he’s real he’s dangerous._

“Right,” you return, not revealing your internal conflict. Looking at your watch, you notice that it’s almost time for dinner back at the orphanage. Almost never have you stayed out this long. Your lodgings are 30 minutes away, and dinner is in 5. Jack sees your worried expression, book still in hand. Hastily, you shuffle through the snow, taking back the book and packing it and the towel you placed over the root into your bag, abandoned since the moment you sat down this day. “I have to go, now.”

You swing your bag over your shoulder, the well-used satchel resting comfortably around your hips. Running out of the wooded area, you call, “Bye!”

Just as you’re about to enter civilization, you feel a hand on your wrist and an arm wrap around you from behind. Jack’s staff crosses in front of you as he catches up to you. “Need a ride?” he asks, lifting you into the air. He pulls you close before you could reply, leaving you helpless as you are forced to direct the Guardian of Fun where to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! When I originally wrote this, I wrote because I was annoyed with how some fanfiction authors wrote with reader inserts in second person stories. I felt that it took away from the actual story.  
> \--Z


	2. One Wintry Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, noon, and night, everyone! This chapter was originally 850 words. It is now 1150 words.  
> \--PoH

It takes less than thirty seconds to shoot into the air and hover above the city. The snow-covered rooves glint in the light of the dying sun, softening the city’s edges. In your periphery, rainbows sprout around the frozen droplets in the atmosphere. You gasp the faster the light ends, the beauty both growing and fading. When you two get to the top, for just a few seconds, only a few, it feels as if your wrist is freed from his grip.

Gravity grabs you and you feel yourself plummeting, the wind rushing around you. It dives into your throat, taking your breath and your ability to scream in terror and delight. Your mouth opens wide, but no sound comes out. Instinctively, you bend your knees slightly, make your arms parallel to your shoulder blades, and your hands grope for something at your shoulders, something missing. You can’t think of what it is, the missing familiar weight, only meeting the darkness and hurt again.

Jack, under your falling form, catches you and slides his free arm around your waist. You cling to his neck, earning a squeeze on your side in response. Looking down at your face, messy strands of hair framing your head, he gives you an apologetic expression as you two slow in the air, rising once more.

“Please,” you say, your voice quavering from the exhilaration, “don’t do that again. _Ever._ ” At least, not without due notice. The ground was far too close for that fall to begin with.

He smirks in reply. Glancing back to the ground, you point out a quaint little house not too far from the orphanage. You direct Jack to it, starting, “If you could drop me off here…”

He gives you a suspicious, confused look. He asks, “You live here?”

It is dark red with a black-shingled roof, two stories tall. A snowman sits on the front lawn, halfway hiding behind a brown picket fence. Toys are strewn about the porch. You hesitate a second longer than you should have, Jack noticing. Quietly, you answer, “Yes…?”

“No, Snowflake, it isn’t,” he retorts. “This home belongs to my first believers, Jamie and Sophie Bennett.” _So they are real._

Sheepish, you give a small laugh, unable to meet his face. “Can’t you just drop me off here?”

“And then where would I find you if I wanted to meet you again?”

“Back at the clearing.”

“Nice try, but no.”

“Please?”

“Snowflake.”

Sighing, you concede, directing him to Lady Jay’s Halfway Home for Teenage Girls. The brown building is three stories tall, the windows dark and blacked out by curtains. Snow piles up in the eaves of the roof and the back yard. In the minute it takes the two of you to reach your destination, you can’t look at him. You’ve been to so many different houses and orphanages over the years and you’ve become so tired of everyone asking you the same questions you never have the answers to. People are only curious about the circumstance of becoming an orphan, not the orphan herself. You stopped letting people know much about you. You became tired of people taking pity on you just because you have no real family to belong to. No one wanted you to be part of their “real” family anyway.

At Lady Jay’s Halfway Home for Teenage Girls, Jack slows, curious as to why he is curious, mainly, and curious about you. Curious as to why you will not look at him. Asking again, he questions, “You live here?”

Turning in his arms to the building, you mutter, “Yes.”

He sets you down at the porch before stepping down on the wood, the boards creaking slightly under your combined weight. Removing his arm from around your waist, you step back further under the porch’s awning. “Thanks for the ride, Jack.” You turn, hand resting on the doorknob. You don’t say “goodbye” because you hate those two syllables, hate the pain of leaving behind someone you gained a smidgen of closeness to. You don’t know what the next day will bring, whether it be a transfer to another orphanage or to a foster home. Besides, after people find out you live here, they don’t tend to stick around.

“Snowflake, wait.”

You turn, figuring this may be the last time you see him. He backed away and is in the air above the ice-tipped wrought iron gate. “When can I see you again?”

_Again?_ “Tomorrow,” you decide, knowing if you have to leave the next day, you can at least stay one last morning. "Same place as today.” He nods once and zooms off, leaving flurries of snow in his wake.

* * *

 

After dinner passes, you are awake that night, staring out the window of the room you share with four other girls your age. You haven’t caught their names yet and they don’t seem to care, all of them asleep. They rest on the beds farthest away from the coldest place in the room: the wall with the windows. Your bed is right at the window, the Man in the Moon casting bright rays down on you. A small figure bringing white behind it darts across the sky. _Probably Jack._

Around ten this night, golden sand drifts through the cracks in the wooden frame of the window: dreamsand. Reaching up, your hand grazes the fringes of the stream, making some of the sand sift into life. At your touch, unlike Jack’s dolphins, the sands shift into a boney horse, its eyes molten gold. It gallops around the room before bursting apart. When all the sand dissipates over your roommates, you exhale and turn back to the moon. Instead of finding its fullness, you find a small, portly, golden man watching you. He creates a hat with the twist of his hand and tips it to you, probably wondering if you can actually see him.

_Sanderson Mansnoozie_ , you think. He doesn’t look as solid as the movie made him to be, the sand swirling and shifting his features as if he were Van Gogh’s stars in motion. Out loud, you say, “Hi, Sandy.”

Puzzled for only a second at your reaction, given that he has never met you face-to-face before tonight, he smiles as you open the window to him. The wind breezes through at the opening, causing you to curl your blanket around your shoulders. His tiny feet step onto the sill, the images over his head gesturing a question of you sleeping.

“Too many thoughts about today,” you admit, figuring he asked why you were awake. “Too many thoughts about the future too.” He gives you a soft smile, gesturing for you to lie down. Bringing his hands together, he silently claps, a ball of dreamsand dissipating over your forehead. The dream sends you flying on your own with an unexpected familiar few. Sadly though, darkness starts to encroach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I'm getting used to college and my computer was dead for a few months (it wouldn't hold a charge, charge, or even be on even when on the charger).
> 
> \--Z


	3. One Wintry Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, noon, and night, everyone! This chapter was originally 993 words. It is now 1484 words. I meant to update this fic yesterday, so sorry for the delay! It was my fault.
> 
> \--PoH

This world starts off peaceful. You race Jack, the two of you flying through an obstacle course of clouds. You two dive between and through the clouds, the Tooth Fairy fluttering above your heads as the referee. She laughs as Jack drizzles snow in your path as he tries to speed ahead, a small flurry in his wake. You will yourself to go faster, craning your head back at him when you pass him, leaving him in a colorful rainbow. North and his sleigh break through the rainbow, the sudden appearance of the reindeer throwing Jack off into another cloud.

You lead the way through the sky, twirling in your flight. Periodically, Bunnymund appears on your left and right, jumping high out of rabbit holes to meet you in the air. He tosses his boomerangs at Jack to slow him down whenever he gets close. Golden clouds glow in the distance, the dreamsand making a finish line with Sandy waiting, waving golden flags.

As you laugh your heart out, crossing under the golden arch, a black blur rushes across your vision, disappearing in a cloud. From the first blur comes several more; black arrows strike out the clouds, peppering them with holes and opening them to rain. They come from all sides, the only safe escape from the arrows being down. You and your companions zip down, letting gravity take over more than fly. Your pulse quickens, your breath coming in gasps. You're going too fast, the ground growing, brown desert as far as can be seen. You want to stop, but you can't. You're falling. You're falling and you can't stop.

You scream.

"Snowflake!" Jack cries. He rushes through the air, dodging falling arrows where he can, trying to reach you. Bunnymund does his best to catch you in his jumps, but you're falling too quickly for him to grab. His boomerangs break any arrows inhibiting Jack from catching you, allowing the youngest guardian to move faster. And move faster he does. Jack collides with you at an angle, knocking you off trajectory and holding you in his arms. You two spin in the air, corkscrewing closer and closer to the earth.

When you hit, Jack keeps you on top of him, taking the brunt of the rocks and dirt, skidding and bouncing. Halted, he taps the butt of his staff on the ground, encasing the two of you in an icy dome. His left hand rests on your lower back, his right arm outstretched with his staff in hand. Resting his head on the ground, he breathes before opening his eyes to look at you. You are on his body, your head right under his chin.

"Hey, y'okay?" he asks with a weak smirk that looks more like a grimace.

"Mm." you confirm. You move to get off him, but your arms and legs are jelly. With a huff, you roll over, laying next to him. Through the facets in the ice, you can see a battle being waged between the Guardians and Nightmares. On the backs of the Nightmares are shadowy men, their bodies absorbing the light around them. In the Nightmare Men's arms are full quivers despite the arrows they've already loosed.

With a groan, Jack gets back on his feet. He crouches over you. "Stay here," he commands. "You'll be safe in here."

He and you know you have no power against the Nightmare Men; the believers can only barely take down the Nightmares themselves. You two also know that you have no chance of getting out of any battle with the Nightmares or black dreamsand unscathed. Staying out of the fight is the only way the Guardians can focus on success.

Sitting up, you watch Jack limp out, opening a hole in the ice then refreezing it, saying, "I'll be back soon."

You place a hand against the smooth ice, feeling its cold radiating all around you. Instead of melting without Jack's presence, it hardens, turning the sand cold. Looking up, Sandy stands atop the dome, whips of sand snapping everywhere. His golden dreamsand collects around the walls of the dome, obscuring your vision. Every so often, the sand will clear and you'll see the fight: North thrusts his swords into the Nightmares surrounding him, his reindeer bolted; the mini-fairies pelt the Nightmare Men with pint-sized projectiles, distracting them as Tooth stabs each with her hidden hip-dagger.

With each animal Fearling that falls, three more take its place, arrows still raining down. The wind blows the sand away on your left, letting you watch Jack fall through the sky, an arrow embedded in his staff-wielding arm, causing the weapon to leave his hands. Another dozen arrows shoot through the staff, splintering it before snapping it in three. Tooth flutters over to catch Jack, abandoning her fairies. Before she could reach him, she takes four arrows to her back, one slicing through her wings, one burrowing into her shoulder, and the other two among her ribs. She plummets to the earth, still trying to catch Jack. The Nightmares take this opportunity to capture the pests pelting them. Tooth screams as her fairies do, reliving the horror they went through trapped in the Nightmare King's lair.

Bunnymund hears her and flinches, her screams too high pitched. In the return of his boomerangs, the second he flinched prevented him from catching them, the weapons whirling towards you and knocking off the ice, the hollow sound ringing through your ears. Egg sentinels pop out of the rabbit holes around the field, their faces turned to anger as they charge the Nightmares. Bunnymund flees, searching for his weapons and his friends. An egg sentinel blocks your view of the fight, the sand returning. It collects around the two dings in the ice, trying to fill the broken spaces.

In the whirring of the sand, you hear glass break and incoherent shouts of large monsters: yetis from the North Pole. Sandy's whips fall silent before a new barrage of his weaponry attacks the airborne Nightmares, trying to retrieve the tooth fairies. For a minute or two, the tide seems to be turning in the Guardians' favor, but for every four Nightmares that disintegrate, a large thump follows of a yeti's fall. The Egg sentinels crack under the pressure of the dreamsand and the heat. The noise collects, becoming so loud you can't distinguish how the battle fares. Above you, the golden dreamsand blackens.

A hole opens in the ground, Bunnymund popping out of it. "We've got to get you out of here." Helping you to your feet, he says, "This tunnel will take you to the Warren. There are some sentinels there to protect you. When this is over and everything's safe, we'll come and get you."

"But what about everyone else? What about Jack and Tooth and—" In that moment, Sandy falls, the sand multiplying the foes twelve to one. The sand swirls around the dome, collecting and coalescing, crushing. Only one small space is free from the sand, the full moon beaming down as dull as a new moon.

"They'll be fine," he says, wiping tears from your face. "You won't be. You have to go now. You'll be safe."

Nodding, you shuffle over to the tunnel and sit on the edge of it.

"I'm going to close the tunnel after you go through," he says, gesturing with his boomerang. A loud crack resounds through the dome, a black hoof breaking through the ice. Around that hoof, the ice splinters and black dreamsand seeps in. Bunnymund pushes you down the hole, closing it with a tap of his feet. He isn't fast enough; a handful of Nightmares slip past the Guardian and into the tunnel.

They chase after you, trying to run down the tunnel but tumbling from the steep slope. You yourself have difficulty remaining straight in the slide. The Nightmares screech behind you, their cries piercing and angry. Eventually, the ground levels out and you stumble to your feet, following the light source out of the tunnel and into the Warren. The Nightmares continue screeching behind you, their hooves clawing and pounding the walls and themselves as they try to rise.

Running away into the clearing, you freeze. The green grass you expected is yellow with death, the plants broken and brown. Shards of eggs and stone litter the ground, the broken bodies of the last sentinels scattered lumps. From the other tunnels come more Fearlings, darkening the dull sky. The Fearlings appear to bow to you, a shadow cloaking you. Spinning on your heel, you find a thin man cloaked in a shade of midnight looming over you, his skin ash gray. His hands are clasped behind his back, his chin jutting out in contempt. He stares at you with golden eyes, causing you to flinch in recognition. In front of you is Pitch Black, the Nightmare King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my endeavors in updating this, I have realized that Jack was almost entirely OOC. New information has come out about Jack which I have to change the story for, but that will be easy considering the chapter it's in. I'm still waiting for that last book though. Thank you all for staying with me.  
> -Z


	4. One Wintry Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for another delay in releasing this chapter. I was told late Monday night that I would be getting a new roommate so I spent the night cleaning. Tuesday, I spent the day moving her in. It's late, but it's still Wednesday! This chapter was originally 942 words. It is now 1417.  
> \--PoH

Pitch glowers at you, inspecting you with a sneer. He moves closer, causing you to move back and trip over a rock. With a scoff, he reaches out to you, wrapping his hand around your neck. You clutch his wrist and try to pry his fingers off, but his grip is unwavering. He could choke you to death, but all he does is hold you there, forcing you to your toes with the slightest tug. His thumb moves under your chin, forcing your head up to meet his gaze. You kick at him, trying to lose his grip. Your legs aren't long enough to even touch him.

With his free hand, Pitch reaches for a lock of your hair, rubbing it between his fingers. His eyes have a glint of an emotion you thought impossible to find in the Nightmare King: longing. As quickly as it came, it vanishes, replaced with a sneer. He brings your face closer to his, turning your face with a press of his thumb. His nail digs into your jaw. Locking your eyes with his, you can see your reflection in his golden irises, fear on your features while he bores into your soul. An electric shock staggers through your system, causing you to shudder and gasp as darkness takes your sight for a second.

Pitch releases your neck, but the Nightmares around you keep you trapped. You can't read him when he opens his mouth to speak. Before he can say anything, a horrendous creak comes from the sky, the world spinning away in newfound darkness. The darkness wraps around you, ensnaring you tighter the more you try to free yourself. The creaking noise grows louder, prompting you to snap open your eyes.

You're in your bed at Lady Jay's, the blankets tangled around you. The other four girls you share the room with are nowhere in sight. Propping yourself up on your elbow, you feel your heart pounding in your ears and that you can't stop shaking in fear and cold. Wait, cold? Twisting your torso, you find that the window is open, Jack Frost sitting on the windowsill with his back to you, looking down on the snow-covered streets below.

Eyes widening, you shift around in your blankets, wrestling them free and huddling underneath with only your head poking out. Jack hums a lazy tune, tapping his staff to the beat of the song. He hasn't noticed you're awake.

"Jack!" you whisper-shout, startling him. He falls backwards off the edge, landing on his back next to your bed.

He groans with a smile on his face, his feet resting on the wall. Slightly pink with embarrassment, he says, "G'morning, Snowflake."

"What are you doing here?" you continue to whisper-shout.

"Well, I figured that we could have some fun today, so I was waiting for you to wake up. Why are you crying?"

Wiping a hand across your face, you find your palm is wet and a small line of red is its heel. Stepping out of the other side of the bed, you rush to the bathroom, thankful none of the girls are around. Jack jumps to his feet and follows you, watching you inspect your face in the mirror. Your eyes are red and puffy. With a tilt, you can see the thin, scabbed line that runs from the middle of your chin to your jaw, the part that was bleeding earlier already scabbing. Moving your hair, you see faint marks on your neck. In the mirror, your hand trembles as you raise it.

"Are you okay?" Jack asks, breaking the silence.

_The dream was real._ "I—" your breath is shallow when you try to answer. "I'm fine." But you're not. He can see you're not.

"What happened?"

You shake your head, your hand rubbing your throat. You can't look at him.

"Tell me." He rests a hand on your shoulder, his other moving to your wrist, removing your hand from your neck. The marks are faint, but the mark from Pitch's thumb is prominent, discoloring the area around your Eve's Apple. His grip on your wrist is hard, barely containing his anger. "Please."

You shake your head again, resting it on his shoulder. _The dream was real. Everything that happened…_

"Hmm…Well," he begins again, "when was the last time you got a dream?"

You can't remember any dream past the nightmare. Muffled, you say, "I don't know."

His body shifts against your forehead. "Didn't Sandy give you a dream last night? I asked him to."

You whip your head up. "That was you? You gave me that? That was no dream! That was a nightmare with Pitch and everything!" Your voice rises an octave and speeds up before you realize the bathroom door is open.

You close the door as Jack sputters, "What? Pitch? What did he—did he do this to you? You have to tell me what happened!"

"No."

"Please. This is really important. The other Guardians have to know. _Please._ "

You bite your lip and feel hot tears fall and blur your vision. Jack hugs you, resting his cheek on your head.

"You died," you whisper, "You all died."

He squeezes you. "And Pitch?"

"He grabbed me." _He grabbed you and marked you through a dream._ "He was looking for something. _He could see me._ "

"Is there anything that would make Pitch come after you?" he asks, pulling away slightly.

"No." You watch his expression and remember what he said earlier. "Why did you have to ask to send me a dream?"

"You're not a kid anymore," he says shrugging. "I didn't think Sandy sent dreams to anyone who wasn't a kid."

"Maybe that's it," you say, pulling away completely. "I'm not a kid. I'm seventeen. You, Sandy, and the others are the Guardians of _Childhood_. I'm not a child anymore and yet _I believe in you_." You watch his concerned, upset, handsome face. _Stop. Stopstopstopstopstop,_ you chastise yourself. _He's immortal. He'll get bored of you and leave when you get older._

_He'll leave you. Your only friend will leave you. What right do you have confining an immortal spirit to your life through friendship? He'll stay young while you'll grow old. He has more important things to do than be around someone as insignificant as you._

"Go, Jack," you whisper. "Leave, please. It's Christmas Eve; North probably needs you." _If not, someone else does._ You open the bathroom door and return to your room, feeling him behind you.

"Are you sure?" he asks, the room devoid of anyone but you two.

"Yeah." You don't look at him when you answer, instead choosing to focus on your unmade bed.

"Okay, then." He walks past you to the window, soundless. You sit on the bed, fingers playing with a loose seam on a blanket, wrapping the string around them. The wooden sill creaks when he steps on it. Before you hear the whoosh of his winds flying him away, you feel a quick, cool tough against your hair. When you touch it, frost comes away on your fingertips. You turn to the window, about to ask him what he did, but he's gone. Sighing, you clutch the blanket and bury your face in it, crying all over again. _It's better that he's gone._ After a while, you close the window and lock it.

For the rest of the day, you go through the motions of your chores, numb. The Christmas tree in the foyer gains a few last-minute ornaments. The carpets in the corridors are vacuumed for dirt. Dust bunnies are swept away on wooden floors. Dishes cause your hands to be prunes. At least you don't have to work outside.

The only notable moment that happens during the day is when an eight-year-old girl and an eighteen-year-old boy come to visit you. The girl is blonde, the boy brunet: Sophie and Jamie Bennett. They end up dragging you outside into a snowball fight with the other kids on the block. Their antics make you smile when you recall the memory later during dinner, but it doesn't make you happy. Jamie was probably put up to inviting you outside; none of his friends were opposed to you, but none of them tried learning your name. That night, alone yet with four other girls in the room, you curl in a ball of sadness and silently cry yourself to sleep. Your head is turned toward the moon. Blissfully, you have no dreams, just soothing darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this series, as in ROTG in general, I feel like the fandom doesn't characterize Jack the way he should be and is just appreciated for his looks. I am guilty of this and I admit it. Ergo, I am trying to fix it. Jack is just a boy. He is an immortal, immature boy who can be serious, but would rather have fun. He's not easy to write, especially when as the author, you want to make him more like yourself, more mature. I feel like this is also a problem with the current Young Adult industry; protagonists are written as nearly omnipotent individuals who figure something out with but a split second. Yes, these characters are meant to be like teenagers, and yes, there are very intelligent teenagers, but I think it's insulting for someone to write a protagonist as all-knowing when that is not how teenagers would act, when they are not ready for that responsibility, when they would not know what to do. I'm going off on a tangent, but this is something that I need to remind myself for when I start publishing my own original content.  
> -Z

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm Z, the original author. After numerous requests to complete this story on FFn, and not having the time to do so because of IB, we decided that it would be best for me to rewrite the story. When I first wrote the story, I had no clue how to write properly. As such, I struggled with posting chapters that were error free. The original, under the same name on FFn, still exists and is being updated along with this one.
> 
> If there are any questions, by all means, feel free to ask.  
> \--Z


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